


that’s what i like

by jenuyu



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempted Seduction, Awkward Sexual Situations, Camboy Mark Lee, M/M, Pining, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuyu/pseuds/jenuyu
Summary: Mark is broke. It’s too bad that the only person with a solution for him is the one person he really shouldn’t be taking advice from.(or, how mark learns to love himself and all the perks that come with being a camboy.)





	that’s what i like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idolrapper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolrapper/gifts).
  * Inspired by [finesse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767856) by [idolrapper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolrapper/pseuds/idolrapper). 



> to my recipient, i can’t tell you enough how much i love your fic, and i can only hope that this makes you smile! ilu ♡

It all starts, as most things horrible and awful and fundamentally wrong with Mark’s life do, with Na Jaemin.

 

 

Mark’s home for the weekend, a short but blissful escape from the hell that his freshman year has suddenly become. It’s not like he ever thought that it’d be super easy or anything, but no one ever told him he would constantly be crawling back to his apartment at one in the morning after spending all night researching Maslow’s hierarchy of needs for a psychology paper due the next day. And honestly, all he just wants to do is to curl up in his own bed and sleep for the next ten years, but an insistent banging on his bedroom door seems hell-bent on keeping Mark from what he wants the most in life.

Mark considers throwing a pillow over his head and going back to sleep, but he knows that exact sequence of knocks, and he knows that Jaemin’s not going to take no for an answer. They’ve spent their entire childhood together. Jaemin’s going to get the door open or die trying.

“Oh my god, what do you want? It’s open!” Mark yells out, and instead of giving him an answer, Jaemin flounces into his room, slamming the door behind him with a resounding bang. A hurricane, Mark thinks. Or maybe an earthquake. Something that leaves nothing but destruction in its path, at the very least.

“Hey, Mark,” Jaemin says, and he leaps onto Mark’s bed, bracketing him in and hugging the cocoon Mark’s made for himself. “Why didn’t you tell me you came home?”

“Why would I?” Mark mutters, and he pulls his blanket down past his chin so he can give Jaemin a baleful glare. “Especially now that you’re keeping me from my nap. Fuck you, man.”

“So I heard you were having some money troubles. Don’t give me that look, your mom told my mom, who told me you’ve been digging in the couch cushions for change,” Jaemin says, and Mark is _this_  close to kicking Jaemin onto the ground when he says the magic words: “I know how you can get a little money on the side, no experience needed.”

Mark perks up.

As loath as he is to admit it, he’s all ears. He’ll do _anything_  if it means he doesn’t have to keep eating instant noodles and eggs for every meal, if it means he doesn’t have to do his laundry once every three weeks to save quarters, if it means he doesn’t have to cut his showers from being twenty-seven minutes and hot as hell to lasting just four minutes and being as cold as Jaemin’s dead shell of a heart, and Jaemin knows it.

“What is it?” Mark asks. Jaemin’s smile turns sharp, predatory, and Mark bites back the urge to kick Jaemin off of him. There’s a suspicion pooling deep in his gut, and it feels a lot like the dread that never fails to accompany each and every one of Jaemin’s insane ideas. “Oh god, please tell me it’s not something illegal. I’m not doing it if it is.”

Jaemin’s grin stretches even wider, something Mark hadn’t thought was even possible up until this very moment. His fight or flight instinct is only sharpening, and he’s about two seconds from breaking his window and jumping out of it to escape.

“Well,” Jaemin hedges, and he takes his phone out of his pocket and types an address into the browser. “It’s not illegal, per se, but it’s probably not something you’d want to tell your parents about doing.”

Jaemin shows his screen to Mark, and Mark can feel his soul leaving his body the second he reads _camboys4u_  in the address bar. He really should’ve gone with the window plan, and now, he has so many questions, the first of which is “how the fuck does Jaemin know about something like this?” and the last of which is “just how cheap does Jaemin think Mark is?”

Mark settles for a nice middle ground. “What the fuck? How did you— I don’t even want to know, never mind. No, I’m not doing it. No. What the fuck, no, never. No.”

“You should do it. I’m telling you, this has been what you’ve been looking for all along,” Jaemin says sagely, tapping at the screen to pull up a link. “Look, if you just do this kind of shit for a few hours a week, you can make _this much_.”

Mark doesn’t want to look. He really, really doesn’t want to.

But the visions of having hot water and grilling samgyeopsal dancing around in his brain are too much to resist, and he takes a peek at the screen through his fingers before wishing that he’d never looked. His will is crumbling beneath his very eyes at the thought of making that much money for doing— what? Jerking off a few times on camera? Like any other teenager, Mark’s done it before, just in the comfort and safety of his own bedroom. He can pretend the camera isn’t there if he just focuses on the amount he could make.

But it’s not _proper_. What if someone from school finds him? What if someone from church is a secret freak in the sheets and recognizes him? Oh god, the shame. The _shame_.

But Mark could buy all the taro lattes he wants to curb the rapidly encroaching bite of winter and still have money left over.

“I’ll do it,” Mark says, grabbing Jaemin’s arm and clutching it to his chest. Jaemin’s his _savior._  “Fuck it all, I’ll do it.”

 

 

“We need a username for you,” Jaemin announces, scrolling through the available streams and directing Mark’s attention to one of them. “Ooh, hang on. Look here. Look at this one. If you want to make money, you have to know your demographic. This guy knows his watchers, just. Oh my god. Amazing, look at that. How does he do that? So bendy.”

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Mark moans, and he buries his face in his hands. “Stop, stop. I _cannot_.”

“Do you want to eat instant noodles for the rest of your damn life? You’re barely qualified to be in university, let alone have a real job. Also, you’re plenty flexible. I’ve seen you do that thing where you put your feet over your head. I’m sure the people who watch these kinds of streams are gonna love it.”

“How much did you say I could make in a week again?”

Mark swears under his breath when Jaemin tells him. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , I need that money. Okay, fine, just make me an account and put my username down as _rapgod._ ”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “What are you, a baby? You’re not even that great at rapping anymore.”

“Type it the fuck in, or I’m telling your mom about all the shit I found under your bed.” Mark chooses to ignore the latter part of that statement, partly because Jaemin’s an asshole, and partly because he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that Jaemin is kinda-sorta right. It’s not his fault he hasn’t had the time to practice recently.

Jaemin types it in, and he frowns at the screen. “Says here that it’s taken.”

“What? Okay, fine, try _rapgod1._ ”

The keys clack noisily. “Nope, out.”

“Get a keyboard cover, your typing is too damn loud. What about _rapgod2_?”

“I’m not taking advice from someone who thinks an appropriate username for a camboy account is  _rapgod2_. Which, by the way, worked because no one else has taste as shitty as you do. Welcome to the camboy world,  _rapgod2_.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mark says, dry. “How’d you even find out about this kind of stuff anyway?”

Jaemin winks at him, and Mark decides, rather sensibly for once in his life, that he doesn’t want to know.

 

 

Jaemin gives him a list of things to do and things to avoid, and one of the bullet points that he’s highlighted and circled multiple times is _PUT ON A SHOW!!! ACT SEXY!!!!_

“Can I at least wear a mask? Like a face mask? I swear I’ve seen people doing that,” Mark says, desperately clinging onto his last chance at protecting his identity. It’ll all be over for him if someone from school recognizes him, and he can probably kiss his chances at a scholarship next semester if he’s exposed as a camboy. “Shouldn’t it be okay?”

“Christ, let it go already. It’s fine. Just what kind of romcom-esque shit are you expecting to happen? As if someone who knows you in real life is going to watch these kinds of things. Listen, at most you’ll be getting a few hundred subscribers or something, and you can finally have hot water again.”

Mark groans, burying his face into his hands. So much for his “maybe if I cover my face no one’s going to recognize me” theory. Apparently people like to see a face to match with the body on camera they’re jerking off to. Who knew. Then a thought strikes him, abrupt and sudden, and it makes him lift up his head and stare at Jaemin.

Jaemin only blinks at him.

“Why are you so invested in helping me?” Mark asks, suspicion heavy in his voice, and Jaemin shrugs.

“Well, first, my mom asked me to help you out, and second, it’s not like I wanted to put actual work into helping you get a real job. Oh wait, shit, this means I have to stop going on this site from now on. I might accidentally catch a glimpse of your pasty ass, but whatever. Worth it.”

“Hey,” Mark starts, offended, “my ass is not pasty.”

“It is, don’t fight me on this,” Jaemin says, sweet. “Don’t worry though, Mark. You’ve got some muscles, but otherwise, you have that malnourished twinky look down pat. Soon, you’ll be raking it in.”

 

 

Mark keeps thinking about these words every time he starts to feel tendrils of doubt reach into his mind, and as insurance for this admittedly insane plan, he goes on an adult toy site and buys some, checking out his cart before he can have second thoughts about it.

He practices his angles, setting up his webcam and shucking off his sweatpants so he can crawl around on his bed to find the position that’ll make him look the least unsexy. He props a textbook under his laptop to get a bit of an angle in, and all he can really think about when he’s rearranging his pillows and blanket around on his bed is the reward at the end of the rainbow.

Mark’s never been more grateful for the fact that he was lucky enough to get an off-campus apartment than when he’s crawling around his bed with his ass high in the air. He gives up halfway through when he starts to cramp in his thighs, and he makes a mental note to never skip leg day again.

The first time Mark tries the site, he ends up having to mentally prepare himself more than he actually has to physically prepare himself. When he really thinks about it, it’s just getting himself off in front of his laptop, and he tries to convince himself that there’s really nothing more to it. But then he starts to see the viewer count steadily increase, and his nerves end up racketing up higher and higher the more people join his room, all curious to see who the new streamer is. Some leave after a minute or so, some stay for a few minutes, but the majority stay. Mark isn’t sure if it’s because he’s cute or if it’s because they’re eager to see what Mark has to show them. Probably both.

It ends up being a total shitshow. Mark only manages to get himself off after fifteen disappointing minutes of fingering himself open, and at the end of it all, once he checks his account balance, he’s made significantly less than he’d imagined, and his lips curl.

He’ll have to do better if he’s going to make enough to feed himself.

 

 

Mark has always been a good student, the kind of kid who color-codes his notes and has different colored stickies that correlate to individual subjects. In between studying for Intro to Psychology and Intro to Cultural Anthropology, he watches the most popular streamers, jotting down notes on their streaming habits the same way he writes down the differences between operant and classical conditioning. He has _edge them, how long? get some toys, but where?_  written in a small notepad that he keeps in his bag next to the notebook he has all of his Anthro notes in, and he’s mildly terrified his notepad’s going to fall out and get picked up by someone.

On an otherwise boring Wednesday, his first purchase comes in the mail, and his hands are clammy as he cuts open the packaging. He pulls out a curved red vibrator and a baby pink dildo and a bottle of lube, and he lays them out on the floor in front of him, palming the vibe and the dildo and testing their weights in his hand. He tries to imagine them inside of him, but his brain short-circuits, since he’s never done anything like that, especially not in front of an audience. Oh well, there’s always next time— hopefully, beginner’s luck will save him.

He tries them out for the first time during a stream, and the gasp he makes when the dildo bottoms out isn’t just for show. It’s a lot larger inside him than he’d thought, but when someone comments that _damn, baby, u look so good with something in ur ass_ , Mark is strangely pleased, and a grin spreads, unbidden, across his face.

“Hey, thanks a lot. That’s so sweet of you, _cumdumpster69_ ,” he says, and he angles himself so that the viewers can get a better look at the flared base of the dildo and the lube dripping down his thighs. “Can you see it? It feels so good.”

 _UR SO HOT BABY_ , he gets ten seconds later, and a notification pops up on the corner of his screen that he’s just gotten fifty bucks from that commenter.

Mark makes sure to show the smile on his face to the camera this time, biting his lip in a way he desperately hopes is sexy, and says, “Wanna see some more?”

 

 

After a semester of trial and error, Mark’s got this camboy business in the bag. He streams twice a week now, a marked decrease from his earlier days when he’d had to do it almost every day to maintain his loyal fanbase. He gets a steady influx of revenue from when viewers pay to watch his older streams, but the real money is from the livestreams. There’s a box with National Geographic’s logo printed on it that has all of Mark’s vibrators and dildos and assorted flavors of lube in it underneath his bed, and he’s honed his art to perfection, carefully choosing his toys and routine to match the mood he’s feeling that day. It’s netted him an obscene amount of money, far more than he could ever have made on his own through less unsavory means, and although Jaemin forces him to pay for his meals every time they meet up now, it’s worth it.

Everything is going perfectly, and Mark prides himself on having kept his identity a secret from his friends at school. He’s Mr. Smith, he’s Harry Hart, he’s James Bond, and when he gets his secret agent codename, he wants it to be something really fucking awesome.

That is, until he feels eyes on him during the first day of Intro to Social Anthropology. It’s an insistent gaze, one that lingers on him far too long to be just a casual onceover. Mark whirls around, his face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance, and he sees a guy five or six rows behind him turn his face away. Mark turns back to the board, his pen tapping a quick and arrhythmic beat into his notebook.

His heart is beating too fast, and he knows why— he’s anxious, the constant fear that he’ll be found out and outed in the middle of a class always lingering in the back of his mind. There’s no reason to be paranoid. The guy had probably just been giving everyone else in their class the same treatment. Mark hums to himself, staring up at the board to try to reorient himself in the lesson, and _fuck_ , he’s already missed a chunk of notes. Lips pursed tight, Mark doubles down on his notetaking, and by the time he’s filled out two pages of notes about the role of social institutions throughout history, he’s already forgotten all about the guy who’d been staring at him.

It’s too bad, then, that as Mark is speed walking off to his next class (Classical Literature of the Greek and Roman Empires is all the way across campus, and he’s only taking it because he’ll get free admission to the campus museums as well as all of their affiliates), someone tugs on his sleeve and stops him in his tracks with a loud, “Hey!”

The guy who’d been staring at him earlier looks down at him, and Mark can’t exactly place what the expressions he’s making are supposed to be. “Um… What’s your name?”

“Mark,” he says, confused, and he wrenches his arm out of the guy’s grip. The guy’s strong, and Mark tries to banish all the thoughts that immediately rush to the forefront of his mind about potentially having a new costar. “Did you, uh, want something, bro?”

“No, it’s just—” The guy’s hands flail around, his limbs too long and lanky for the corridor they’re standing in, and when his textbook slips out of his hands, Mark darts forward to catch it. “I’m a huge fan of yours!”

Wait.

What?

 _Fuck_.

All of the alarm bells in Mark’s brain are screaming at him to _run, you’ve been compromised, your cover’s been blown!_  and he straightens up, the textbook falling onto the ground with a loud thud, and he’s already thinking about how he needs to text Jaemin to watch a movie with him to destress. “I have to go.”

 

 

A week later, the guy runs after Mark as he tries to get to his next class on time.

“Hey, Mark. We should Netflix and chill sometime?” There’s a wide grin on his face, like it’s been plastered on from a child’s book of stickers.

Mark speeds away, hoping that he’ll take the damn hint.

Then it happens again, and Mark is _this close_  to ripping his hair out and throwing the strands at the guy. Instead, as the guy annoys everyone in Mark’s row by squeezing past their legs and sitting down in the seat next to him, Mark only settles for narrowing his eyes at him. Jesus, what is his problem?

“Look, I’m not trying to objectify you or anything. I really like you for your personality, too,” the guy says, and all Mark can notice is how annoying it is that his fingers keep tapping out a rapid-fire rhythm against his thigh.

“Lecture’s starting,” Mark says, and he readies his pen to start this section’s notes, because what Mark needs the least in this cruel world is someone trying to engage him in a discussion about how he fucked himself with a dildo last night for money in the middle of Anthro.

“Oh? Oh, okay.”

When the professor calls on the guy next to him to ask him to tell the class about the difference between intragenerational and intergenerational mobility, the guy flounders, and Mark tries to suppress a laugh behind his hand. He fails, but whatever. Anyone who’s done the required reading would know the answer, and Mark feels a sense of vindication that isn’t entirely unwelcome.

Still, he wonders just why he feels like sliding his notes over and tapping at the definitions he’d so meticulously written down the night before, and he stops himself before he can do something that stupid.

But then it happens _again_ , when the guy taps Mark’s shoulder (he’s in the third row this time, goddammit, why can’t he just pick a row to sit in and _stay there_?) and hands him a folded piece of paper (what is this, are they in third grade?). He’s written his name, “Huang Xuxi or Wong Yukhei, either is fine!” and his number on it.

Mark snorts and crumples it up, stuffing the ball in his pocket.

(Later that night, he finds the balled up piece of paper at the bottom of his pocket, and instead of dunking it in the trash, he unfolds it and tacks it up on his corkboard. He might need it someday.)

 

 

Xuxi, or Yukhei, or whatever his name is, doesn’t try to talk to Mark again. He knows he has no real reason to be annoyed at the lack of attention, since he’s been the one pushing him away for the past few weeks, but he _is_.

“So you’re telling me that you crumpled up the piece of paper with his number on it in front of his face, and now you’re wondering why he hasn’t spoken to you for weeks? Are you really that stupid?” Jaemin’s using a fry to draw patterns into the ketchup. Mark’s paid for his lunch because one, he needs to vent to Jaemin, who refuses to be seen in public with him unless he’s being compensated for his time, and two, he still feels a little bad that he got popular enough to be on the front page. (Jaemin hates it so, so much.) “Damn, Mark. What was his name again?”

“Not telling you. But seriously, he’s just so hot. But he’s also, like, a stalker. How did he even find me? What if he adds me on Facebook and then adds my mom and tells her I’ve been fucking myself for thousands of people to see? Oh my god. My pastor is going to _kill me_.”

Jaemin flicks a fry at him.

“You’re insane. Literally no one would ever do that, so stop watching all of those stupid crime shows because they’re seriously polluting your brain. Do you want Hot Stalker Guy to fuck your brains out or not? This is a yes or no question, so don’t try to make this some kind of bullshit short answer question like I know you’re trying to do right now.”

Mark clamps his mouth shut. He’d been about to qualify his answer, but now, he’s afraid that Jaemin’s going to dump his drink all over his lap if he does. He leans forward and whispers, so quietly that Jaemin has to crane his neck over his plate of fries to hear him, “Yeah.”

“Good boy,” Jaemin croons. “Anyway, remember Jeno, that cute boy I told you about? He has a friend named Jisung who’s getting tutored by Donghyuck from that history class I took last semester. Donghyuck says that Hot Stalker Guy used to have a huge crush on him, too, but he’s pretty cool. So how about you ask him very nicely after class next week if he’d like to take you home and fuck you?”

Mark groans.

“Anyway, wanna get wasted tonight?”

Mark groans again.

“Don’t be like that. It’s at Jeno’s place, and listen, he has a hot housemate named Renjun. Come with me, and no, you don’t have a choice, you gotta help me out here with at least one of them, okay? Your brain is going to fall out of your ears if you keep studying this much. Come _on_ , it’ll be fun. You need to get laid.”

That’s how Mark ends up going to Jaemin’s friend’s place and shotgunning five beers and doing three shots of vodka off of someone’s abs, and after that, the rest of the night is a blur.

 

 

Mark wakes up in his own bed, pain throbbing behind his temples, and when he stretches, his eyes still firmly shut against the sun, his arms hit something that’s warm and soft and feels oddly alive. Mark cracks his eyes open, and when he comes face to face with Yukhei, he barely resists the urge to scream. Holy _shit_ , what the fuck is he doing here? Did they—

Mark peeks under his blanket. Nope, they’re both still clothed, and the only pain he feels is in his head.

He closes his eyes again, pressing his fingers against his eyelids and trying to remember the events of last night. He remembers Jaemin making out with someone against the wall, and he remembers seeing Yukhei walk in with a tall guy with big doe eyes. Then he remembers running over to Jaemin and wrenching him bodily away from the guy he’d been pressing up against the wall and moaning to him “holy fucking shit fuck me in the ass Hot Stalker Guy is here what do I do,” and Jaemin had frogmarched him over to say hi and to get him laid, and.

Fuck.

Yukhei had been the one to take him home last night, then, since Jaemin is nothing but a Grade A Asshole. He’d tucked Mark into bed and let Mark throw his legs around his thigh and hadn’t even tried to do anything. He remembers, with no small amount of shame, asking Yukhei if he likes it when he says “daddy,” and Yukhei telling him that he only puts out after the third date. Well, if that’s what it takes, then so be it. It’s been going on for way too long for Mark to just let an opportunity like this slip away.

Yukhei’s skin glows golden in the morning sunlight, and Mark finds himself reaching out to touch his cheek before he can stop himself.

“Xuxi, Xuxi, Yukhei, Xuxi,” Mark mutters, poking Yukhei’s cheek and watching as Yukhei stirs and bats his hand away the way a small baby animal would.

He’s adorable, really.

Jaemin told him once that “Maybe you should just give him a chance. It’s not like he did anything super creepy. He seems to be a decent guy, so what’s the worst that could happen?”

Mark’s heart clenches.

Well, shit, Jaemin’s right.

 

 

They go out on a brunch date to this place Jaemin really likes for their overpriced avocado toast, and as they’re walking there, Mark stares at Yukhei’s ass the entire time. It is not a bad ass at all, especially when it’s squeezed into Mark’s Adidas trackpants, and he makes sure to tell Yukhei that he should really be using his phone to cover up his ass instead of his crotch.

Mark pays, because it’s really the least he can do. Partially for taking him home safe and sound and having the decency not to have sex with a drunk guy, and partially because he knows Yukhei must’ve blown out his bank account watching his streams. Yukhei confirms as much, and when he does his impression of how Mark had scampered away from him the first time they met, Mark laughs so hard he spits his americano out across the table.

“I am _not_  a meerkat,” Mark chokes out, before reaching over to wipe coffee off of Yukhei’s hand, and Yukhei grins at him.

“Yeah, you kinda were,” Yukhei says, and he does it again, his fingers wiggling in the air. “Like this, see?”

Mark only laughs harder.

 

 

Yukhei takes him to the movies, and Mark’s proud to say that he doesn’t even remember what they ended up watching. The only thing he remembers is grabbing Yukhei by his hair once the lights dim and dragging his face down to kiss him. He sucks bruises into Yukhei’s throat, and when he reaches downward to palm the outline of Yukhei’s cock through his pants, Yukhei grabs his hand and holds it for the rest of the movie.

“Hey, hey. Not now, yeah? Didn’t you want to watch this?”

“Well, yeah, but.” Mark trails off.

He resists the urge to stare down at their hands once Yukhei shifts his grip and laces their fingers more tightly together. Yukhei’s hands are absurdly large, enough to make Mark’s feel small, and his aren’t even that tiny. Mark feels the beginnings of a flush start to creep up his neck. Truth be told, he’s been thinking about Yukhei’s fingers ever since they met, and he wonders just how good they’d feel in him, stretching him out and scissoring him open. Mark crosses his legs, thanking the stars for how engrossed Yukhei is in the movie that he doesn’t even notice.

After that, they start spending more time together, working out and studying with one another. Yukhei’s a pretty damn good gym buddy, and they take turns spotting for each other as they work on weights, but Yukhei is absolute trash at studying with him since he gets so easily distracted, which means Mark gets easily distracted because there’s absolutely no way he can resist Yukhei’s infectiously sunny moods. After the second time Yukhei tries to hold his hand while he’s in the Zone, Mark cancels the rest of their study dates.

“It’s not me, it’s you,” Mark says seriously, slamming his textbook closed on the table, and when Yukhei pouts, Mark has to kiss it away for him.

It doesn’t take long for Mark to realize that they’ve already passed three dates and to realize that he’s completely lost count of how many dates and pseudo-dates they’ve been on (does walking home together count?). It’s been a month, but Yukhei hasn’t tried to do anything with him.

Mark’s been obvious as fuck, too. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t not-so-subtly suggest to Yukhei that they should bone, but Yukhei either has the patience of a saint or just doesn’t want to fuck Mark anymore, and Mark knows for a Fact that Yukhei still wants to fuck him. For one, there’s the way Yukhei’s eyes always linger too long on Mark’s lips whenever he’s drinking out of a straw, and it’s not like Mark can’t feel the hard tent of Yukhei’s cock against his jeans whenever they’re making out.

Still, it isn’t really that bad.

After discovering that Yukhei’s actually better than he is in classes that don’t require excessive amounts of memorization, Mark adds Yukhei back to his study buddy list. They get a decent amount of studying done when they’re both focused, and one day when they’re studying together at Yukhei’s place, Yukhei brings up the idea of Mark giving Yukhei a kiss for every question he gets right on their Anthro practice quiz, and Mark only agrees because he’s easily in the top first percentile in the class.

“One, two, three,” Mark mumbles, pressing three kisses against Yukhei’s lips quickly, expertly. He frowns at the page they’ve just finished, circling the fourth question in the bottom right. “Can’t believe you missed this question about primitive tools.”

“No one even remembers that,” Yukhei whines, furiously highlighting the corresponding section in the textbook they’ve spread all over the bed. “Who even cares what the difference between flint and obsidian are? It can’t possibly matter to anyone in the real world.”

“Actually,” Mark starts, before Yukhei cuts him off with a practiced press of his palm against Mark’s lips.

“You know I love it when you talk all smart to me, babe,” Yukhei says, “but we have, like, two days until this exam and I’m three chapters in. Out of ten.”

Mark snorts, and they continue like that, where Yukhei fills in a page and Mark checks it over for him before giving him his rewards. When they get to the short answer portion of the practice exam, Mark’s about to read him the question to answer when Yukhei stops him, a wide grin playing on his lips.

“Shouldn’t the reward kiss last as long as it takes me to give you the answer?” Yukhei asks, tapping his pencil against his leg. “Just one kiss can’t possibly be worth,” and Yukhei steals a glance at the practice exam, “three to five sentences on the construction of societies along major rivers.”

“Fine,” Mark says absently, flipping through the pages. There’s no way he’s going to get this one in its entirety. Even he’d had trouble with this when he went through the exam a week ago, so when Yukhei recites the complete answer back to him, he’s floored.

Yukhei opens his arms wide.

“Fine, you asked for it,” Mark grits out, crawling onto Yukhei’s lap and staring down at Yukhei’s face, so wide and open, and he grabs Yukhei’s chin, tracing his thumbs over his cheekbones and leaning in to kiss him. Yukhei’s lips part under his, and Mark tastes strawberry candy and french fries on Yukhei’s tongue. Yukhei’s hands are large and warm on the small of Mark’s back, and Mark presses closer, winding his fingers into Yukhei’s already wild hair, and instinctively— stupidly, he realizes in hindsight— he grinds down, a quick roll of his hips onto Yukhei’s.

Several things happen in quick succession: Mark feels Yukhei start to reciprocate, and he thinks, for a single blissful moment, _finally, this is it_ , before Yukhei throws Mark off of him, the force of which propels Yukhei backward, toppling from the bed and onto the ground so hard he very nearly cracks his head open. Mark scrambles to the edge of the bed.

“What the fuck, Yukhei,” Mark says, staring down at Yukhei, and Yukhei rolls over to the side, clutching his head in what must be nothing but pure and unadulterated pain.

“Mmrgh,” Yukhei says into the floor, and Mark rolls his eyes.

“Get up,” Mark says, nudging Yukhei with his foot and ignoring the sting of disappointment still burning in him, and Yukhei groans again. “Come on, seven more chapters to go.”

Yukhei makes himself comfortable on the ground. “Give me, like, a minute. Please.”

Mark sighs, and at the same time, he reaches over for his phone.

 

 

Ever since the last time he tried to get Yukhei to do him and was quickly shot down, he’s been complaining to Jaemin nonstop about how Yukhei won’t fuck him. He sends texts that mostly look like _hey do u think im not hot anymore what if he thinks im not hot anymore_ , and Jaemin sends texts like _shut the fuck up already ur really not as hot as u think u are, pasty ass_. Jaemin’s not particularly nice, but at least he’s honest.

Just to shut him up one day at lunch, Jaemin asks, “Why don’t you just ask him to?”

“I can’t, how fucking _desperate_  would I sound?”

“No, not in person.” Jaemin puts his chin in his hand and tilts his head. “You know. During a stream.”

“I don’t know if he even watches anymore. Wouldn’t that be weird? Watching the person you’re dating but not fucking get himself off for other guys?”

Jaemin hums. “Maybe, but I feel like it’s worth a shot. Come on, what’s the harm in trying?”

He’s continued streaming even after he and Yukhei started dating. A guy’s gotta make money somehow, and getting himself off on camera just happens to be Mark’s trade of choice. Yukhei hasn’t said anything about it, and it’s not like Yukhei’s going to pay his rent when he can barely feed himself.

Besides, now that he’s met Yukhei, Mark finally has someone to think about while he’s fucking himself. Before Yukhei, he’d just imagined himself getting fucked by particularly hot strangers, but now? When he fucks himself with his fingers, he imagines that they’re Yukhei’s, and when he fucks himself with his dildo, he wonders how big Yukhei is compared to it. He’d probably be bigger, Mark decides. He’s ground down onto Yukhei’s hips far too often not to know that he’s packing.

Scratch that, Yukhei definitely is, if only for Mark’s own imagination.

Mark decides to take matters into his own hands. They’re making out on Yukhei’s bed, and Mark has Yukhei pressed up against the pillows, his legs slung over Yukhei’s hips and his hands buried in Yukhei’s hair. Yukhei’s _clearly_  done this before, with the way he grinds up against Mark’s ass, and Mark almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. But nothing good ever comes without a price, and it’s with this thought in mind that Mark pulls back and says, “Sorry, gotta go take care of some important business at home.”

Yukhei’s face looks like a deflated balloon, and Mark kisses him, quick and soft, before hopping off Yukhei’s bed and telling him to check his laptop in a few minutes. Yukhei waves at him morosely as he leaves before Mark sees him roll over to face the wall, and he only hopes that Yukhei will see what he has planned. If not, it’ll have all been for nothing, and Mark _hates_  wasting time.

It takes Mark ten minutes to get back to his own place, five minutes to make sure the front door’s unlocked and that he’s presentable, and then he shucks off his t-shirt and jeans and clicks the button to start the stream.

“Hey, guys,” he says, waving to the camera as he watches the viewer count start to bump higher and higher, and he leans forward to check the comments. Mark still hasn’t figured out what Yukhei’s screen name is, so he can’t wait for him to come before starting. “How many viewers should we start at? Five hundred?”

He sits back on his heels, loosely palming himself over his boxers to get himself half-hard before he starts. “Actually, this is kind of a special stream, so I’m just gonna start now. How’ve you been, guys?”

Mark reaches over for his lube and shimmies out of his boxers, leaning in to read the comments as he drizzles some lube onto his fingers and gets them slick. “ _Puppy18_ , congrats on passing your quiz! Okay everyone, I have a little story for you.”

He turns around and bends over, his hips in the air, arching in the way that he knows makes him look the prettiest, and circles his middle finger around his hole before pressing it inside.

“Some of you may already know this, but I’ve been seeing someone, and he hasn’t touched me below the waist _once_ ,” Mark says, and he adds his index finger in, pushing past the resistance. His voice hitches as he scissors his fingers inside himself. “It’s not that he isn’t attracted to me anymore. I know for a fact he is.”

Mark thinks about how _obvious_  Yukhei is, how many times he’s caught Yukhei staring at him, how many times Yukhei’s hips have stuttered against his, how many times Yukhei’s hands have lingered on his ass for too long before they wrench themselves away as if dragged from him by some magnetic force, and he smirks.

“But— I don’t know. He needs to be a big boy and just,” and Mark fucks himself back onto his fingers, imagining that they’re Yukhei’s fingers, and that makes him sigh into his sheets, a sound that the mic undoubtedly picks up, and the thought of Yukhei hearing that, of Yukhei getting hard listening to his voice, makes his cock strain against his stomach, “come here and wreck me already.”

The comment box goes crazy.

He shuffles forward, his fingers still knuckle-deep inside himself, to read the comments. There are the usual _baby, you’d look so good on my dick_  and _why don’t i come over and fuck you instead?_ , but Mark ignores them, watching the comment box until he sees _i’m sorry, i can do better_ , and he reads the screen name of the person it’s from.

“ _Sushi99_ ,” Mark reads, and then it all clicks. “Sushi, sushi, Xuxi?”

 _haha it’s me_ , Mark sees amidst the sea of _omg what_ , _holy shit in the flesh_ , _boyfriend??_ , _is he hot show us his dick_ , _MAN THE FUCK UP AND FUCK HIM ALREADY SUSHI_ , and he smiles, soft, despite himself. “Asshole.”

His phone pings with a message from Yukhei, and he uses his free hand to pick up his phone and unlock it. _ill be there in ten wait for me_ , he’s written, and Mark wonders if he’d rushed right off after sending the message.

Mark turns back to the laptop, grinning. “Well, guys, guess I’ve got an appointment in ten. See ya later! Maybe I can convince him to show up with me sometime.”

As expected, Yukhei bursts through the door exactly ten minutes later, his face flushed with exertion and his cock already tenting in his sweatpants, and Mark discovers that Yukhei’s cock fills him up even more nicely than he’d ever dared to imagine. He comes onto his own chest with an embarrassing whine, his heels digging into Yukhei’s back and his arm thrown over his eyes, and his heart has never, ever beat quite this fast before.

“We’re dating. We’re boyfriends now,” Yukhei says, once he’s wiped his chest off with a wet towel and tossed it off to the side somewhere, and Mark can’t hold back the swell of emotion that threatens to knock him over.

“Yes,” Mark says, and he grins at Yukhei. Yukhei’s smile is absurdly wide, absurdly large, and it makes Mark want to do nothing but kiss him all day. There’ll be time enough for that later. But for now, he lets Yukhei have his way with him, lets Yukhei slide his hands down his sides, lets Yukhei finger him open again.

Yukhei even eats the come out of him, his hands holding Mark’s legs apart and his tongue licking deep inside him, and once Mark’s come a second time, Yukhei turns his face to the side and presses a kiss to the inside of Mark’s thigh, and that’s how he knows he’s found a keeper.

 

 

A week later, Mark gets a text from Jaemin.

_i showed jeno and renjun the pics u and yukhei posted on ig and now jeno likes u more than he likes me and renjun says and i quote “i just want to sit on yukhei’s lap and make him cry” i hate u so fucking much jfc_

Mark shows Yukhei the text, rolling his eyes, and Yukhei laughs, throaty, and drops a quick kiss into Mark’s hair. Mark fires off a quick text (“ _haha its just what u deserve! u started it haha_ ”) before tossing his phone to the side and rolling Yukhei over and leaning in for a kiss. Yukhei stops him, a hand pressed to Mark’s lips, and Mark makes a noise, irritated.

“You think I should take him up on that offer?” Yukhei asks him, his eyes bright, and Mark rolls his eyes again.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Mark asks, curling his fingers around Yukhei’s wrist to pull it aside, to stare down at Yukhei. “Won’t he be jealous if you do that?”

“Oops, I guess so. You’re right, Mark,” Yukhei says, easy, his smile wide, and Mark falls just a little bit harder for him each time he smiles like that. “Doesn’t that mean I’ll get some kind of punishment? Are you going to tell on me?”

Mark leans down, close to Yukhei’s ear. “Only if you think you deserve it,” he says, and the full-bodied shiver he gets from that makes it all worth it. Mark rocks back onto his heels, tracing the defined planes of Yukhei’s chest with the tip of a finger.

“Let’s get the webcam ready?” Yukhei asks, and Mark pauses. Yukhei’s no stranger to his streams now, and pretty much everyone who follows him has already seen Yukhei. He’s still a little sore from that time he had Yukhei fist him for a stream. But this—

“Nah,” Mark says even though he’s discovered quite the exhibitionist streak in Yukhei lately. But still, Yukhei’s eyes darken, his breath hitches, and _yes_ , Mark thinks. _Yes_. “I think this is something I want to keep to myself for now. You know, as practice.”

“Sounds good,” Yukhei agrees, and he reaches upward to curl a hand around Mark’s neck to pull him back down. “Starting now?”

“Yeah,” Mark breathes out against Yukhei’s lips, before he tumbles off of Yukhei and darts away, savoring the glimpse he’d gotten of Yukhei’s face, completely crestfallen and broken. “This is your punishment, asshole!”

“What— hey, fuck you, Mark! I was getting so into it, too! _Mark_!”

Yukhei catches Mark in the kitchenette, pressing him back against the counter, and Mark lets himself stop pretending to fight. It’s hard to, especially when Yukhei looks at him the way he always does, so bright it hurts.

“That was mean,” Yukhei murmurs, soft, and Mark’s almost inclined to agree. Almost.

“You’ll just have to change my mind, then, huh?”

Yeah, Mark thinks, as Yukhei leans down to drop a kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy, against Mark’s lips. Definitely a keeper.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! a super big thanks to n & r & s for reading this over for me and holding my hand... couldn't have done it without you....T_T [♡](https://twitter.com/JAYME0214/status/857130623902855169)


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